


Contest of Wills

by dreamweaver11



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Manipulation, dark story, established unhealthy relationship, no love lost, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11621142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamweaver11/pseuds/dreamweaver11
Summary: It was not love. In fact, it wasn’t even remotely close to fondness. Unsure of how the whole affair had started, Thom chose not to think about it too closely. Things were complicated enough without the added headache.





	Contest of Wills

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Roger using will instead of magic to manipulate Thom was inspired by the series "What a Flicker Brings" by Ankhiale, specifically the story called "Luck-Working" (where Thom attempts to manipulate luck after losing his Gift). I recommend Ankhiale's work.

It was not love. In fact, it wasn’t even remotely close to fondness. Unsure of how the whole affair had started, Thom chose not to think about it too closely. Things were complicated enough without the added headache.

 

Heaving a sigh, he ran slim fingers through his hair with a grimace. His desk and worktable were scattered with various documents and sheets of parchment, notes scratched messily in the margins. Books were piled up around him, and various herbs and stones useful for magical spells could be seen everywhere. If maids had been allowed in his work area, someone may have reproached him for not cleaning up the spilled inkwell before it had irrevocably stained the table and floor.

 

If, of course, that someone had the guts to approach the Lord of Trebond, youngest Master of the Mithran School of Sorcery in many years.

 

Very few dared to approach him now, due both to his power and his temper, and he told himself firmly that he preferred it that way. He had no interest in being tied down to another person; he did just fine alone.

 

The door between his workroom and personal library opened, breaking into the young lord’s brooding and revealing an older man carrying a sheaf of papers. He was handsome, with brown-black hair and riveting blue eyes, which settled upon the sorcerer. “What are you fretting about?” he inquired in a cultured accent, his tone blandly polite.

 

“What makes you think that I’m _fretting_ about anything, Roger?” snapped Thom, glaring at the other man through narrowed violet eyes.

 

Unruffled, the former Duke of Conté eyed him coolly, gaze slipping from disheveled copper locks to the brief muscle twitch in the sorcerer’s clenched jaw. Instead of answering, he held out the papers to the sorcerer who, after a brief moment, snatched them grudgingly and began to rifle through them. His question hardly required an answer from Thom. After all, the majority of the palace had yet to discover that Roger had been brought back to life by the sorcerer sitting in front of him. The chaos which would ensue when the news eventually broke out would not be pleasant. And the older man had little interest in antagonizing the younger man who had given him a second chance.

 

Thom paused on one page, his interest briefly caught by the details of some spell noted down by the resurrected man. He regretted having been goaded into bringing the charismatic former duke back by that Eldorne tart, but the damage was done. What worried him was not the reaction of the other nobles, nor even that of the king, but that of his twin, Alanna of Trebond and Olau, who had put the duke in the ground in the first place. As the only person whose opinion he actually cared about besides his own, he was uncomfortably aware that she would almost certainly _not_ be pleased. His gut churned at the thought that his sister might turn away from him.

 

Her reaction to Roger’s resurrection would be bad enough, but he did not care to see her reaction to what else had transpired. He knew that she herself had become physically involved with others, first with the prince and later with the thief George Cooper. Now there were even stories of her and the Shang Dragon, so she probably would not do more than tease him for taking a bedmate; even a male bedmate would not be too insurmountable an obstacle. But he knew that she would never understand his choice this time.

 

The sorcerer glanced at Roger, face unreadable, but the older man could guess where his thoughts were. Roger returned the look with a clear level gaze until the restless violet eyes shifted back to the summary of information on the spell, before allowing himself another searching look at the twin of his adversary. The effects of the sorcery he had laid in place in the event of his death had not begun to appear yet, but he knew that the longer he remained above ground, the more his former Gift would leach into the young master, corrupting his magic and placing it under Roger’s control. It was somewhat of a pity, he thought to himself idly as Thom ignored him. The younger man was powerful, and the challenge he presented was not an easy one to ignore.

 

“Quit staring at me.”

 

Blinking, Roger averted his eyes politely. “My apologies,” he murmured, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he turned his charm on the redhead. “I didn’t mean to make you… uncomfortable.”

 

“I’m busy,” Thom retorted, repressing a slight shiver at the other man’s warm tone. The bastard could be very charismatic when he wished to be, and his words brought to mind other activities. No, his sister would never understand how he could take this snake, no matter how handsome or charming, to bed!

 

Roger raised his brows. “I see,” he replied, sidling closer to the sorcerer in order to see which of the pages was presumably holding his attention. The former duke noted with a suppressed smile that the younger man tensed slightly at his proximity.

 

Thom wrestled with himself internally for a moment, all too aware of Roger’s presence so close to him. _It’s not as though I even like the man_ , he thought furiously to himself. Roger may be good looking, but he was also dangerous. Their passion was cold; it served them both physically, with no love or trust to complicate things. The former duke professed a great gratitude toward Thom, and secrecy bound them together, but neither man would spend even half a moment in grief if the other left or died.

 

With a second sigh, Thom turned in his chair, dropping the papers on his desk. He could sense that he would get nothing done that day. “What do you see?”

 

The smile spread slowly across Roger’s mouth, white teeth flashing against his dark beard. “I see _you_ , Thom,” he said simply, tone caressing the young sorcerer’s name. Thom flushed, a spark igniting in his gaze as he repressed his trepidation. _Physical release might do me good_ , he thought to himself. _At least it might clear my head of distractions for a time_.

 

Taking the older man’s proffered hand and allowing Roger to pull him to his feet, Thom allowed his Gift to surface at his fingertips, violet flames skimming the other man’s skin. Roger’s gaze darkened as sparks of heat danced against his palm. Bringing their clasped hands to his mouth, he pressed his lips against the redhead’s knuckles, teeth scraping gently, aware that soon the sorcerer would lose patience with these games, intent on a quick release even as Roger himself dragged out the activities as long as possible.

 

With narrowed eyes, Thom jerked his hand out of the other’s grasp to reach for Roger’s tunic and shirt. The former duke, composed and just faintly amused, mirrored his actions, fingers trailing across thin waist and hips beneath cloth layers as the young sorcerer yanked at his clothing. Frustrated with Roger’s lack of cooperation, Thom finally released some magic into the garments, disintegrating them and revealing the duke’s muscled chest gilded with white scars.

 

“Patience, dear boy,” Roger murmured, leaning in to whisper into Thom’s ear. He shivered involuntarily as Roger continued with a smirk. “All good things to those who wait.”

 

“Waiting never got me anywhere,” Thom retorted, pulling away slightly.

 

Roger allowed his lips to quirk up in a small smile, purposefully drawing Thom’s gaze. “Then let’s get to business.” Dropping to a knee, he eased the sorcerer’s belt and unbuttoned his breeches. Already, the cloth was tented from the sorcerer’s arousal. _Amazing what a bit of will could do_ , he mused to himself as he lowered the redhead’s breeches and loincloth, baring his erection.

_Even without my magic, it is almost too easy to lay a suggestion. But it_ is _simpler to suggest something that the person is inclined to do anyway_.


End file.
